I Create My Own Confusion

Here I am back again at square one in regards to what I do for a living.  If a living is even what you can call it; I'm scraping by unable to save a dime.  Sure, having health benefits is great, still being paid for time off is great, but the toll it is taking on my sanity is of a magnitude I didn't think possible.  No wonder 40-hour-a-week drones, those who spend that time in a cubicle or at a desk, are miserable.  I'm not even in a cubicle but I lose my damn mind walking into that same building every day, going into the same locker room, putting on the same scrubs, and doing the same jobs over and over again.  The time just drags on, and I spend more of it there than I do anywhere else.
Yes, I know how lucky I am to even have a job.  I also realize how lucky I am to have the ability to make choices when it comes to my job and what I do to pay the bills.  The enormity of it is not lost on me.  BUT...
I've begun to ask myself, Is this the quality of life I want?  I know, I know.  It's only been four months.  I've applied for two different positions within the company; I didn't get the first one for reasons I completely understand, but I wanted to prove I had the guts and gusto to move upwards.  Still waiting to be interviewed for the second one, or at least hear something, and it the outcome just might make the decision for me - the decision I'd never thought I'd face again and the conclusion I've already come to - that this is not for me.  I walk around that place and think, I am not like these people.  I can't handle this.  I need to be using the other side of my brain again.  At least the stress that caused me was worth it in some twisted way.
The stress I'm experiencing now is of a whole different caliber - working twice as hard for less money, missing my family, my life, popping one or two Klonopins just to get through the day.  With my old job they were there if I needed them, but it was rare that I had to run to the bathroom with a bottle of water and dig through my purse in search of my prescription.  (Which reminds me, I need to get it refilled for the first time in almost an entire year.  What does that say?)
I don't know what the hell to do.  My old job is beckoning me to come back.  Come back Dana, your passion isn't dead.  Come back, you can make a few small demands from your old boss that would make it worth it to both you and him.
Now that my major debt is paid off, I'd be able to sock away some money.  I'd be able to repay those who have helped me out, because right now, the paycheck goes into my account and then right back out, regardless of the fact that I have slashed my monthly bills by almost a third.  I've been sitting on $20 since last Monday to get me through until this Friday.
Maybe I needed a break from the photography gig to reset my mind frame.  Maybe I needed a wake up call to realize how good I had it, even with all of the traffic and snot nosed brats that I had to make look fabulous.  I remember cutting the grass one day, my thoughts following the trails I was making while pushing the mower, and thinking, Maybe being the Picture Lady, being the school portrait photographer, for the rest of my life wouldn't have been such a bad gig.  At least there I had coworkers I looked up to and aspired to be like. At least there, when summer time came, I had the ability and freedom to express my creativity by taking actual portraits that wouldn't just be discarded the following year.  Oh and the stories I had.  The stories I would come home with were some of the best.
Like I said, I don't know what the hell to do.  I am more confused now than I've ever been.  What does my heart want?  What does God want for me?
I better get my ass in gear and head to the gym to (hopefully) clear my head a bit before it's time to go to work.  Shudder.

My Pen Refuses To Leave the Paper

The second I proclaimed to myself, and aloud to my uncle because he was the one sitting next to me on the beach, that I want to be a writer and am going to make it happen, I dug out a little notebook I had buried in my bag and started scribbling down observations of what was going on around me.  I have found this to be helpful in my quest to figure out what exactly it is I want to write about.  Through doing this, a few ideas have already surfaced.
I am an avid journal keeper as well.  I've got books that date back to high school, and not just little spiral bound notebooks.  They're thick, hard-covered volumes, all hand written.  One of my fears was that pursuing this blog and other writing ventures would take away from my journal writing - it's a form of therapy for me, really - but I don't think it will.

  Now the questions I ask myself are -

• What excites me enough that I want to write about it and share it with the world?
• Do I have a novel somewhere inside of my brain?
• What type of POV am I most comfortable writing in?  First person?  Second person?  Third person limited? 
• Should I start with poetry or short stories?

The book I just finished reading, Write Good or Die, by Scott Nicholson with contributions by several well established authors, gave me tons of insight about starting out and advice about publishing, marketing, finding an agent, etc that will be useful to me down the road.

For now some of my ideas must continue to ferment; it's time to start getting ready to leave the house for a 10:00 appointment with my therapist.

The Preg-O Dream

One night a few weeks again I had dream that I took a home pregnancy test and it came out positive.  It was such a vivid and realistic dream that I remember forcing myself awake to prove it was just a nightmare.  (I'm in no way shape or form ready for a baby, hence why I'm diligent about birth control.)  What freaked me out as well was knowing who the father was without any doubt or hesitation.
When I woke up the next morning some of the shock from the dream had worn off, and I dismissed it for the most part, but now I find myself going back to it and wondering if there was an underlying meaning to it.  I decided to do some dream-interpretation research to see if anything is applicable.  Most of us know that dreams cannot always be taken literally, so instead of searching for "positive pregnancy test," in most cases I settled for pregnancy, or, if I was lucky, the term "pregnancy test" did come up.

Dream Moods says "To dream that you are taking a pregnancy test indicates that you are entering a new phase in your life (a new job, relationship, etc.) You feel that you are being put to the test as to whether you are prepared or ready for these changes. Alternatively, this dream may be literal in meaning and address your anxieties/fears of getting pregnant."

The Curious Dreamer returned "A process or project somewhere in your life, responsibility for another person, animal, etc. somehow in your life, responsibility for self or for your inner child, a curiosity about pregnancy."

Dream Dictionary says, "Dreams about being pregnant usually indicate a new project is 'around the corner' in your life. Giving birth is 'the most creative act' and in a dream means something 'new' is brewing. When it arrives in your life you will become more creative if you take it on. It is a good dream to have."

It seems pretty black and white.  I've never dreamed about anything related to pregnancy before, literal or figurative, so it's obviously a combination of two things:
 -  I just turned 29 and as much as I hate to admit it, the biological clock has started slowly, quietly ticking.
 -  Last week I made the decision to become serious about writing.  The urge to create has always been strong within me and I feel that now is the time to start constructing something to show for it.

Birth = Creation
Creation = Birth